


Just Like They Say It in the Song

by synchronysymphony



Category: Les Misérables - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, M/M, NSFW, Trans Male Character, phone fic, security guard grantaire
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-04
Updated: 2017-07-04
Packaged: 2018-11-23 06:10:17
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,766
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11396919
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/synchronysymphony/pseuds/synchronysymphony
Summary: Grantaire's night takes an unexpected turn.





	Just Like They Say It in the Song

**Author's Note:**

> this is bad porn and that's literally it

Grantaire has seen just about everything in his work as a security guard. Concert performers eating full meals onstage, drunk mechanics bringing airplane parts into bars, people carrying animals into the club— he's no stranger to any of it. He therefore considers himself to be pretty good at his job just because he _has_ seen everything, and when something catches his eye, he knows what to do.

So tonight, working another gig at some weird indie concert with performers he's never heard of, he knows exactly what's going on when he sees the little blond curled up on the floor, desperately in danger of being stepped on. The poor thing looks close to passing out; they're probably one more over-enthusiastic concertgoer whose small size interfered with their alcohol consumption. Grantaire feels for them, he really does. He's had alcohol issues in the past, too. But they can't stay there and get hurt when someone misses their little body and treads on them.

He fetches a water bottle from the bar and makes his way over to the hunched little ball, pushing random revelers out of the way as he goes (they don't care at all, he's found). "Hey," he says, and the blond looks up at him, and right around then, his thoughts completely give out, sputtering away to a sort of fizzing in the back of his head.

Because, this little drunkard is _beautiful_. There's no other way to describe it. He has cheekbones that could cut paper, full red lips, rich golden curls that Grantaire wants to tug, and the most glorious limpid blue eyes that the world has ever seen. Is he even _real_? Maybe he's some sort of plant, meant to steal state secrets and overthrow the government. Grantaire mutely holds out the water bottle. 

"Oh! Is this for me?"

God, even his _voice_. He sounds like a fucking musical instrument, even through the pounding bass coming from the concert stage. Grantaire barely manages to nod.

"Uh— for you. Don't want you to get a hangover."

The boy laughs, and Grantaire curses the loud concert music, because that laugh is probably the prettiest thing he'd ever hear in his life. "Oh no, I'm sorry. I'm not drunk."

Grantaire has heard this one before. "Okay, sure, whatever you say. But drink that water."

"No, no." The boy's earnestness is honestly adorable. Grantaire can feel himself moving in closer despite himself and rules about propriety and professionalism and all that. "I promise, I haven't had more than one drink tonight. I just wasn't feeling good, and it hurt so bad that I couldn't stand up anymore. I didn't want to throw up on anyone, so I came back here."

"Throw up on anyone?"

"It could happen. You wouldn't believe the pain I'm in right now."

Now that Grantaire is closer, he can see that the boy's face is pale and pinched, and there's a glassiness to his perfect eyes. He really does look like he's in pain. Now _that's_ upsetting— it feels wrong, seeing an angel hurt like this. Against his better judgement, Grantaire reaches out a hand to take his temperature. 

"Are you sick?"

The boy shakes his head, soft wisps of hair brushing against Grantaire's hand. "No, I'm okay. I just have a bad back, and it hurts to stand up for too long. That's all."

"That's _all_?"

"Yeah, it'll pass."

"When?"

"Who knows?" The boy smiles, a clear attempt at bravado. "Don't worry. This isn't the first time it's happened, you know."

"You— that’s— well, why did you even come here? It's not like concerts are good for people with pain issues."

"My friends really wanted to go, and they wanted me to come along, too. I couldn't get in the way of their fun, now, could I?"

"You could. I'm sure they'd forgive you for that."

The boy flaps his hand in a sort of dismissive gesture. "No, it's okay. It just hurts a lot, but it'll be okay, and we'll have memories together, in the end."

"Memories of what, you lying in a corner because it hurts to move?"

"You have to admit, that _is_ memorable."

He has _dimples_ when he smiles. This is absolutely unfair. Grantaire groans in his head at all the rules he's about to break, and extends the hand he never really retracted after checking the boy's temperature. 

"Come with me."

"What?"

"Come with me. I'll take you to the staff lounge and you can wait for your friends there."

"But is that okay? Isn't the staff lounge for, well, the staff?"

"Yeah, but this is an emergency. Just trust me."

Trusting Grantaire is generally a bad decision. All his friends would say so. But the boy doesn't hesitate, merely takes Grantaire's hand and allows himself to be pulled to his feet. Once he's upright, though, he winces and collapses against Grantaire's chest.

"Oh fuck— I'm sorry. It just _really_ hurts."

Grantaire wraps his arms around the boy’s small, lithe form, trying to keep him from falling back onto the floor and potentially hurting himself even worse. It's ridiculously easy, because he weighs about as much as a cat, and is much easier to hold. 

"Easy there," he says. "Come on, we'll just get to the lounge and then you can lie down. Can you do that?"

The boy bites his lip (Grantaire follows _that_ with fascination) and nods. "I'll do my best."

"Good enough."

Unfortunately, despite the boy's efforts, he can't seem to make it three steps without support. After the fourth time he staggers and falls into Grantaire's arms, Grantaire decides enough is enough and picks him up. It's probably weird to carry customers, but at this point, he doesn't care. 

The boy certainly doesn't seem to mind. He wraps his arms trustingly around Grantaire's neck and leans up close, eyes flittering shut. If he's worried about where Grantaire might be taking him, he shows no indication of it. It's stupid, but this warms Grantaire's heart right up, because no one's trusted him unquestioningly like this in a really long time, not even his employers, and it's making something inside him melt, just a little bit.

"Hey," he says. The boy dips his head, though he doesn't open his eyes.

"Yeah?"

"What's your name?"

"Enjolras. What's yours?"

"I'm Grantaire. It's nice to meet you, Enjolras."

Enjolras opens his eyes, finally, and smiles that adorable smile of his. "The pleasure is mine," he says.

That shouldn't be charming. It's something that a fifty-year-old lawyer would say to his fifty-year-old lawyer acquaintances at the annual golf-and-cocktail lawyer garden party. But the way Enjolras talks, anything he says sounds so sincere and beautiful, like it's the perfect choice of words out of everything possible. He really does make it seem like it's a pleasure to meet Grantaire (which is refreshing and new in of itself). Grantaire is so dazzled that he can't think of anything else to say, and instead busies himself with finding the staff elevators to take them both up to the lounge on the third floor. When he shuts the door and presses the button up, Enjolras smiles so brilliantly that Grantaire almost kisses him right then and there.

He doesn't, though it's a close thing. Instead, he manages to get Enjolras to the lounge without saying anything embarrassing, or losing his words (which would also be embarrassing), and by the time he's laid them both on the worn leather couch in the employee lounge, he's learned that Enjolras is a first-year law student, and is therefore not as young as he looks. Grantaire, who's pushing a venerable thirty, is pleased about this. It's not like they're going to _date_ or anything (what a silly thought— gosh), but it's nice to know that he's not sitting here making heart-eyes at some seventeen-year-old.

"So you're going to be a lawyer," he says, gently arranging the one and only couch pillow behind Enjolras's back. "What are you thinking of doing with that? International? Medical? Don't tell me you want to do corporate law."

"No," says Enjolras immediately, wrinkling his nose. But then he frowns. "Actually, I'm not sure. There's lots of ways I could see to help the world, but I don't know what the best one is, you know? I wish someone could tell me what to do in order to maximize myself and make it so I could help the most people possible."

"That's why you want to do law? To help people?"

"Of course. There's so many doors that a law degree can open; it's a good way to try and make a difference."

"And you really think you will? You're just one person."

"One person can make a _huge_ difference." Enjolras smiles, lip catching on his pearly teeth. "Look at you. You totally saved my night tonight, just by stopping by to see if I was okay. You changed my life even a little bit, so therefore you changed the world. And that was just in a night's work for you. A single person can do a lot!"

It's weird, but Grantaire can't help but believe in him. He doesn't believe in much, or at least he takes great care not to, but this little angel has completely up-ended that delicately cynical system. He's so sure of himself, so persuasive, so full of light, and Grantaire is completely lost. Talk about changing lives— he doesn't think he's ever going to be the same again.

"Will you give me your phone number?" he asks. 

Enjolras's lovely face lights up. "Of course. I was hoping you’d ask."

He pushes his phone towards Grantaire, somehow having gotten it out of his pocket in the blink of an eye despite his pain problems. He really must be enthusiastic. This, just as much as anything else, makes Grantaire’s heart feel like it’s floating up and around inside his chest. 

He inputs his number and saves it with first and last name and about fifteen emojis, and hands it back without texting his own phone. Enjolras looks surprised at this.

"You're not going to give my number to yourself?"

"Well, I didn't really have your permission to do that, now, did I?"

Enjolras's eyes sparkle. He takes his phone and types out a quick message, which, when Grantaire opens it, contains a kissy face emoji and the words, _I permit it_. Well, well. So the little law student knows how to flirt. Grantaire tips his chin up with one finger.

“Do I have permission for this, too?”

Enjolras pushes himself up on his elbows. "Yes. Please."

Slowly, sweetly, Grantaire captures his lips in a gentle kiss. His mouth is warm and soft, and he tastes like some kind of fruity chapstick and the remnants of that one drink he'd had tonight. He's sweet, no doubt about it, but he isn't shy, and within a minute, he's humming into the kiss and arching up to bite down on Grantaire's lower lip. Grantaire answers him with a surprised hum and an answering bite once he gets his bearings back.

Enjolras likes _that_. It's pretty obvious. He sits up straighter and winds his hands through Grantaire's hair, messing up the already-wild curls. He's so fucking perfect, and Grantaire is one second away from pressing him down into the couch and just _taking_ from him, but then he moves too suddenly, and Enjolras flinches into their kiss.

"I'm sorry—”

Grantaire pulls him back to look at him, holding him gently between his hands like some kind of delicate sculpture. He hadn't meant to hurt him, even if it hadn't been completely his doing, and he feels awful.

"Are you okay, angel? Does it hurt?"

"Just a little. I want to— I mean— it's just my back, you know."

It's charming how flustered he is. Despite his looks and his flirtations, he's definitely no too-smooth playboy. Grantaire can't help but be endeared, even through his worry. 

"Can I do anything?" he asks. "Should I get you an ice pack? A hot towel? Painkillers?"

"You have painkillers?"

"Probably somewhere in here."

Enjolras is still clinging to him, leftover posture from their kiss, but he seems content enough to stay like this, and now he grips on a little tighter. 

"Is that okay? Can I have some? If it's too much trouble, that's okay, but…”

"It's totally fine," says Grantaire, cutting him off. And it is. He'll do anything to help Enjolras feel better, even if he has to run across the street and hit up the nearest pharmacy for some Ibuprofen. A smile from Enjolras— just like the one he's sporting now— and the knowledge that he's feeling better, that will be reward enough. 

Fortunately, though, Grantaire doesn't have to go very far. He finds a packet of Acetaminophen in a drawer at the back of the room, and brings it over, proud of himself. There it is, he did something good. 

"Here," he says. "Go ahead and take this. I think you'll feel better."

Enjolras smiles, trusting again, and takes the pills, apparently not caring that they're random drug-type items from a stranger. It makes Grantaire's heart hurt a little bit. The boy is going to get himself in trouble if he’s always this trusting in humanity. 

Once he's taken the pills, Enjolras settles back down on the couch with a soft sigh. His face is really pale, and his eyes are still glassy, but at least he looks a little more content now. He sees Grantaire looking at him, though, and instead of addressing the problems he might be facing, pain-wise, he gestures with a winning little smile.

"Come here."

Grantaire can hardly say no to that. He bends down over Enjolras's prone body. "Hey."

"Hey."

"How's it going?"

Enjolras hooks a finger in his collar and tugs down. "Come _here_."

Okay. Grantaire isn't going to say no to that, either. The next thing he knows, his thoughts have faded back to fizziness again. 

Bahorel finds them there some time later. Fortunately, they're both fully clothed, but Enjolras's shirt is all rucked up, and Grantaire's hand is between his legs. Bahorel takes a long look at them and their guilty faces and slowly shakes his head.

"You know the staff lounge is for staff, right?"

"It's my fault," says Enjolras immediately, sitting up. "I wasn't feeling well, so Grantaire brought me back here to help me feel better."

"I bet he did," says Bahorel, unimpressed. Enjolras looks distressed.

"No, please! It's really not his fault. He was just trying to be a good person. I wasn't trying to get him in trouble, I promise! I'll leave right now, and you can forget you ever saw me, please—”

"It's okay. It happens."

“—please don’t— what?"

"It happens. I been there too. You going home with him?"

Enjolras flushes a bright, cute red. "Ah, I mean..."

"Go ahead. R, you take the rest of the night off. You did good tonight, so I'll let it slide. But be careful in the future."

Grantaire can hardly believe his luck. He's _so_ glad it was Bahorel who discovered him and not Louison. She would've had his head for sure (and rightfully so). But now he has a great chance with the boy of his dreams, and miraculously, he's gotten out of clean-up, too. 

"Thank you," he says, or gushes, rather. "Bahorel, bro, I can't believe how chill you're being about all this. I really owe you one, for real!"

"Nah man, it's all good. Just enjoy your night."

Enjolras goes even redder at this, but this just makes Bahorel laugh and cuff him on the shoulder in a friendly way.

"You enjoy yourself, too, now."

Poor little Enjolras looks close to combusting at this point, so Grantaire decides to make good on Bahorel's offer and head out. He slaps him on the arm as he goes in grateful camaraderie, silently vowing to buy him a beer or three next chance he gets. Bahorel slaps him back, significantly harder, and not-whispers a good-luck in his ear.

"You really scored there, bro. He's a solid 11/10. Make sure you give it to him good."

Grantaire winks at him. "Don't worry, I will."

Enjolras texts his friends while they leave the staff lounge, but when he's done (it takes awhile; he must have a lot to say about this), he looks up at Grantaire through long, graceful lashes. 

"Were you serious about going back to your place, or...?"

"I was," says Grantaire way too quickly, and then "if you're okay with that, I mean."

"I'm more than okay with that." Enjolras takes his hand, smiling, and starts to tug him forward. "Come on, let's get this party started, shall we?"

\--

Grantaire has a mostly-naked angel in his bed, and he has no idea what to do.

This is a rare occurrence for him. It’s rare that he has a mostly-naked _anyone_ in his bed at all (no matter what he might lead his friends to believe), but he's also pretty good when he does manage to score. In fact, no one, not one-night-stands nor long-term partners, have ever complained about his prowess. Here he is, though, lying next to (and half on top of) the most gorgeous person he's ever seen, and he's freezing up. 

 _Okay, Grantaire_ , he thinks. _You can do this. It's a perfectly natural human endeavor, practiced by people for millennia. It's not a big deal. Not a big deal._

It's a big fucking deal.

Grantaire rolls back down so he's lying next to Enjolras instead of on top of him. "So," he says. Maybe Enjolras will want to talk about Serious Things and then they won't have to deal with the thorny problem of Grantaire's performance issues. Enjolras looks at him, eyes all soft and sweet (but still full of that fire that Grantaire’s already falling in love with).

"Yeah?"

Grantaire has no words. "Um," he says intelligently. 

"Are you okay?"

Enjolras is too perceptive. Grantaire tries to laugh (it comes out really forced and weird) and pats him awkwardly on the head.

"I'm great! Just thinking about... you know. The economy."

"The economy?"

"Oh yeah. It's, uh, it's bad."

"I won't argue with that." Enjolras's brow furrows, and suddenly, he looks terribly worried. "Grantaire, did you not want to have sex? Am I pressuring you? I would never want to do anything you’re not comfortable with!”

"It's not that," says Grantaire quickly. "Believe me, it's not that. I've never wanted sex with anyone as much as I want it with you."

"Then why..."

"Because I want it so much. I don't want to disappoint you."

"You won't. I promise."

Grantaire sighs. "Okay, but how do you know that? I might be a colossal flop— pun intended. What if I'm awful? What if you regret this night for the rest of your life?"

"I highly doubt I will," says Enjolras dryly. "But you know, if you're that worried about it, we don't have to do anything. We can just sleep. Oh, or I could go home, I mean I don't want to invite myself over if I'm not welcome, you know."

"You're welcome. Seriously, you're so welcome. But..."

"What?"

"Promise you won't punch me if I give you a bad time?"

Enjolras rolls his eyes. "Yes, Grantaire. I promise. And you won't."

"You don't know that," Grantaire grumbles, but he feels better already. He rolls back up again, on top of Enjolras, and kisses him, as slow and wet and hot as he knows how. 

Something must be right, because Enjolras presses up against him, holding on for dear life. His eyes are closed, but even so, Grantaire can see the happiness on his face. He's gorgeous and blissful and _perfect_ , and Grantaire made him look this way, and okay, he can do this after all. He cups Enjolras's face in his hand, loving how soft and smooth his skin is, and brushes his thumb across the dainty cheekbone. 

"You're so beautiful," he murmurs. 

Enjolras opens his eyes, and he just stares for a second before he says, "you are too." Grantaire isn't sure what he thinks about this, because he may be a lot of things, but _beautiful_ isn't one of them, but then Enjolras is mirroring his earlier movement and holding his face with both hands, and it's so pure and sweet that Grantaire can't think of anything else to say.

So instead, he slides his other hand down over one of Enjolras's breasts. The sound he makes at this is highly gratifying, sort of surprised, completely pleased. Grantaire smiles, rapidly catching up on his self-assurance, and starts to rub slowly over the pert little nipple. 

"Do you like that?" he asks.

"Clearly I do." Enjolras isn't far gone enough not to be sarcastic. Grantaire doubts he ever will be. It's somehow completely endearing. 

"Okay. Well, how about this?" Grantaire slides down halfway and replaces his hand with his mouth, and Enjolras gives a small, breathy sigh. 

"Yeah, like that."

That does wonders for Grantaire's confidence. It's amazing what a little validation can do. He laves his tongue against the peak of Enjolras's nipple, then, gently and carefully, bites down. Enjolras _moans_ at this, a real, beautiful, fucking sexy moan that makes Grantaire's boxers feel even tighter (somehow). He pulls away with one last kiss.

“I know we talked about this, but… how far do you want to go tonight?"

“I told you, all the way. I want to do everything."

"Everything? So…”

"Fucking get back here."

Enjolras pulls Grantaire back on top of him, and Grantaire is happy to go. It's not everyday that he gets to worship the world's most perfect breasts, after all. He carries on, sucking and biting until Enjolras is a writhing mess beneath him, and all the power has gone straight to his head— and to his dick. He doesn't know the last time he's been this hard, all the passion and heat of the moment curled in his belly like a flame. 

He's having an amazing time, but he can't stay here all night. He has all of Enjolras's body at his disposal, and it would be a crime not to explore it. So slowly, just in case Enjolras decides not to go any further and wants to push him away (which doesn't seem likely, but who knows), he reaches down and presses the flat of his fingers between Enjolras's legs, feeling how wet he is even through the thin cotton of his briefs. Immediately, Enjolras bucks his hips against his hand, moaning again. 

"Yeah, that's right, that's good."

"Yeah?"

"Please touch me."

Grantaire can do that. He takes off Enjolras's briefs and throws them haphazardly off the bed, because they have much more important things to worry about than laundry right now. Enjolras rises up and kisses him with renewed fervency and he kisses back, almost lost, until Enjolras takes his hand and guides it back between his legs.

"Right here. Touch me here."

"I can do that."

Enjolras is absolutely soaking wet. Grantaire slides a finger over his entrance, smiling when he bucks his hips again, trying to entice him inside. Now he's got him, so it's time to tease. This is one of the best parts of foreplay, knowing he has the ability to drive his partner crazy, and taking full advantage of it. 

"You're so wet for me," he whispers. Enjolras gives him an unimpressed look.

"Yeah, so can you..."

"All in good time, baby. All in good time." Grantaire brings his thumb up to make loose circles around Enjolras's clit, ignoring the way he whines and wriggles, trying for more stimulation. No one could get off just from this, and Grantaire knows it. He's going to take his time tonight. "So what do you like?" he asks conversationally, as Enjolras bites on his neck in protest of the slow pace. “I know you’re comfortable with penetrative sex, but would you rather have my fingers? Or my tongue?"

Enjolras pushes up against his hand, practically growling now. "I told you, I want all of you. I want your fingers _and_ tongue, _and_ I want your cock in me. I want everything. So can you _move_?"

Grantaire dips his finger just slightly into Enjolras's entrance, not enough to truly stimulate him, just enough to feel how hot and wet he is. He slides his finger back and forth, in what has to be an agonizing pace. 

"Hmm. So you like it when I do this?"

"No, you asshole," Enjolras grunts, still somehow managing to sound beautiful and sensual. "Stop teasing me, would you?"

"Oh, okay." Abruptly, Grantaire takes his finger away completely. "Is this what you want?"

"No, you fucking—”

Enjolras takes his revenge by pulling Grantaire's fingers up to his mouth and taking two inside. He sucks on them masterfully, just like he's giving head, and Grantaire forgets about everything in the entire world.

"You— uh. You.”

Enjolras flits his soft little tongue between the join of Grantaire's fingers, licking away his own slick. He raises wide, coy eyes to Grantaire's face, practically fluttering his eyelashes. 

"Yeah?"

Grantaire has no idea. Was he even saying anything? It's amazing how Enjolras takes each and every one of his thoughts away. He pulls his fingers out of Enjolras's mouth, trying to ignore the whine this elicits, and brings them back down.

"Here," he says.

"Here _what_ — oh!"

Enjolras's eyes fly wide open as Grantaire slips one finger inside him. He's tiny, and Grantaire's fingers are anything but small, but he opens so beautifully for him, slick, silky heat pressing against his finger just perfectly. Grantaire crooks his finger, looking for the best angle.

"Like this?"

Enjolras's loud moan assures him that he's found it. He rubs back and forth for a minute, enjoying the way Enjolras writhes against him, before he lifts his thumb and begins circling his clit once again. 

Enjolras is incredibly responsive. He twitches beautifully each time Grantaire rubs up against his sweet spot, and he honest-to-God whimpers when Grantaire finally gives him a little more pressure on his clit. He's beautiful, and he's already falling apart (which is much sooner than Grantaire had expected— he can't actually be inexperienced, can he?) and Grantaire isn't sure he can keep up the slow teasing for long without going crazy himself. 

So he withdraws his fingers, clamping his other hand over Enjolras's mouth to muffle his whine. "Shh. I'm going to go down on you now, is that okay?"

Enjolras's eyes flutter again, and he presses a kiss to Grantaire's palm and mouths something that's probably either "yes" or "please." Grantaire removes his hand, just to be sure.

"I want to lick your little pussy, make you scream for me. Can I do that? Will you let me taste you?"

"Yes, God." Enjolras's words burst out of him like a flood, desperate and fast. "Please, Grantaire, you have no idea what you're doing to me, so please— please—”

Grantaire grins. He has Enjolras exactly where he wants him now. “Yeah? I want to hear you ask me for it."

"Please!"

Grantaire doesn't make a move, except to lightly flick his thumb over Enjolras's breast again. "Please what?"

Enjolras is bright red. It's probably the cutest and hottest thing Grantaire has ever seen. He chews his lip, fighting with himself and his own embarrassment, but when Grantaire bites his nipple, he gasps and speaks in a torrent of words. 

"Please, Grantaire, please put your mouth on me, lick my pussy, please. I want you so bad, you have no idea, and you're so good, so please, please—”

"Aww, what a good boy. That was beautiful. Okay, I'll eat you out now, sweetheart."

Grantaire lowers himself slowly, pressing open-mouthed kisses to every inch of skin he can. Enjolras's skin is perfect, smooth, warm, and just the perfect canvas for Grantaire to worship. But finally, he gets to the real prize, dripping wet between Enjolras's legs. 

He tastes so fucking good, almost sweet. Grantaire has always loved eating pussy, and here and now, with Enjolras trembling under his hands and mouth, he feels his dick starting to strain almost painfully. He ignores this, though, because Enjolras comes first ( _literally_ ) and licks back and forth over his slit, just tasting him, until he whimpers and tries to push himself deeper.

"Gran- _taire_!"

"Mm, what do you need, baby?"

"More!"

"More? You're a little greedy, aren't you?"

"Maybe? I don't care, though! Can you just— please!”

Grantaire can't deny him anything, especially like this. He licks deeper, truer, and finally, when Enjolras is squirming and cursing above him, he pushes his tongue inside, fucking him with his mouth.

If possible, Enjolras gets even louder. He cries for Grantaire to go deeper, probably unable to process the fact that his tongue can only reach so far, and begs for pressure on his clit, and demands kisses, and in fact, Grantaire isn't even sure what he's saying after awhile, only that it's _extremely_ flattering to render him like this. Grantaire loses himself in trying to make him shriek higher and louder, alternating licks with kisses pressed to his creamy thighs.

Enjolras is so wet that Grantaire can feel him when he grasps him around the thighs to pull him closer, fucking him on his tongue, and he just has to lift a finger to his own mouth and suck on it, in full view of Enjolras’s wild, glassy eyes, of course.

“You taste so good,” he says. 

Enjolras pulls at his hair, and that’s as clear an invitation as any, so he slides two slick fingers into his pretty mouth to let him taste, too. His eyes flutter shut as he sucks, hard, content to let Grantaire finger-fuck his mouth as he feeds him his own slick. It’s hot, probably one of the hottest things Grantaire has ever seen, but he’s only human, and he can’t resist Enjolras’s perfect pussy for long, so he slowly pulls his fingers away, leaving a brief wet kiss in their place, and goes back down to continue what he’d started before. 

He does his best, pulling out all his little tricks to make Enjolras go wild, flicking his tongue in and out, drawing letters with his mouth, using one finger to press inside him right beside his tongue, then adding one more as he licks against his clit, all the works.

And it's effective. Before long, Enjolras's legs are spasming, and he's making little half-cut-off mewls in the back of his throat. Grantaire knows with all the surety of experience that he's about to come. He crooks two fingers inside him, reaching for that spot, and increases the pressure with his tongue until Enjolras is practically screaming, coming hard enough that he's probably seeing stars.

Grantaire doesn't let up until Enjolras is moaning softly and trying to pull away from the overstimulation, and then he comes up to kiss him, secretly loving the fact that Enjolras seems to enjoy the taste of himself in his mouth.

"How was that, baby?" he asks. Enjolras sucks hard on his lower lip, pulling it into his own mouth before he releases it to look up with big, hazy eyes.

"So amazing. You don't even know."

"I think I know."

So, Grantaire is a little cocky. Who could blame him? He's _sexperienced_ , and he just brought an angel to orgasm, so excuse, excuse, he's _going_ to be proud of himself, darn right and hell yeah. He brushes Enjolras's sweaty bangs off his forehead, smiling sweetly (and only a little smugly) down at him.

"How's the back?"

"Back? Ah— oh, it's good. Don't worry."

"You're sure? No pain or anything?"

"No, it's okay. But you, don't you want to…”

"I don't want to hurt you."

"You won't. Just fuck me."

There's probably no sexual person on earth who'd want to say no to that. Grantaire gives Enjolras a quick kiss on his red, wanting mouth before springing off to dig around in the night table drawer for a condom. 

Once he's all ready (and not a moment too soon, because he's so hard it hurts, and he's practically losing his mind waiting to sink himself into Enjolras's soft heat), he comes back to the bed and climbs up on top, looming over Enjolras and smiling.

"Ready, sweetheart?"

Enjolras pulls him down for a kiss, only releasing him when he starts rutting against him, too turned on to think straight. "I'm ready."

Grantaire settles back on his haunches. Enjolras is so little, and he doesn't want to hurt him, especially with him as delicate as he is, so he's going to have to be careful. Still, though, they both want this, and with a little consideration, he thinks they'll be okay. He steadies himself, spreading Enjolras's legs a little bit to help, and before he can lose his nerve, he pushes in. 

His first thought is that Enjolras is _tight_. Despite all the preparation with fingers and tongue, he's still tiny, and there's resistance against Grantaire's dick as he tries to fuck forwards. Grantaire feels a little guilty about it, because he _really_ doesn't want to hurt Enjolras, but it feels fucking _amazing_ to fill him up like this. He rubs his thumb over Enjolras's clit to distract him from the stretch as he sinks in closer to the hilt. 

"How's that," he whispers. "You okay, precious?"

"Mm." Enjolras's face is screwed up, though whether it's from pain or pleasure, Grantaire has no idea. "Can you go slower? Just a little. I’m— you’re so big.”

"Of course." Grantaire stops all movement immediately, though he does continue to thumb over Enjolras's clit. "There, is that better? How does that feel?"

"I need to get used to it," Enjolras says, and it's almost a whimper, the way his breath is coming so short. Grantaire leans forward and kisses him gently. 

"Shh, it's okay. Take all the time you need. You're going to be fine."

It takes less time than Grantaire would have thought, or even advised, seeing as Enjolras has been having pain problems already tonight, but soon, his face clears and he pushes back against Grantaire, demanding that he move.

"I'm ready. Fuck me now."

"You're sure?"

“Obviously. Just go.”

"Okay."

Grantaire is still a little unsure of how hard he wants to go, but after the first thrust, Enjolras hooks his legs behind his back and pulls him in close. 

"Go hard," he says.

"Yeah?"

"Yeah. I can take it."

He might be able to, but Grantaire can't in good conscience do that with him when he was in so much pain only a few hours ago. No matter what he says, he's going to get sweet, gentle love-making tonight. 

But, what Grantaire lacks in power right now, he more than makes up for in finesse. If he does his job right (and he's pretty sure he will), Enjolras won't even miss the roughness. He rocks his hips, driving himself into Enjolras in a way he knows is achingly slow and good. It's not hard and fast, but it's _deep_ , and it feels more intimate and intense.

Unsurprisingly, Enjolras moans at this and tries to pull him in even deeper. This is probably not really possible, but it's flattering for Grantaire's ego. He does a slow type of body-roll, showing off, until Enjolras bites at his neck, apparently trying to muffle his moans.

"More," he says, voice blurred with lust. "Grantaire, _again_."

"I can do that."

He does, and scrapes his teeth across Enjolras's neck as he does for good measure. Enjolras seems to like biting, so he probably likes being bitten in return. Sure enough, he tugs at Grantaire's hair in total bliss with little cries of pleasure that are clear and loud enough that the neighbors can probably (definitely) hear and get off to them through the thin walls of Grantaire's apartment.

Grantaire certainly wouldn't blame them. Usually he has as much stamina as needed to satisfy his partners, however much that might be, but Enjolras is so hot and perfect that he feels himself starting to unravel already. He starts to fuck him in earnest now, needing to make him come before the inevitable happens and he hits his own release. Sadly, he doesn't think he can get it up twice tonight— that's one more disadvantage to getting old. 

"Talk to me, babydoll," he says. "How does it feel? What do you need?"

Enjolras's eyes are blue-bright stars. "It's perfect," he says, sounding dazed. "Grantaire, you're perfect."

Grantaire doesn't hear _that_ very often. He preens internally, and rewards Enjolras with a long, thorough kiss. 

"You're perfect too," he says softly.

Enjolras takes his hand and presses a kiss to the back of it. It's a sweet moment, but before Grantaire can properly appreciate it, Enjolras has guided his hand down to his clit and is pressing up against it.

"Touch me," he says.

“Needy.”

Grantaire knows his voice is dripping with adoration. He hadn't been lying; everything about Enjolras is perfection personified. How did he ever get this lucky? He has no idea, and probably karma will make up for it somehow at the most inopportune time, but he couldn't care less, because right now, Enjolras is grinding against his fingers, moaning a high, breathy melody. 

"Grantaire," he's saying. "Grantaire, make me come. Please, please."

"I will, angel," Grantaire promises, although it's hard to speak evenly past the rush of lust that wracks through him. "Be patient for me, okay?"

"I can’t— oh!" The rest of Enjolras's sentence is lost in a whine as Grantaire rolls his hips in that way he does when he’s bringing his best. It’s a little tiring for him, but he knows it must feel amazing for Enjolras, so he continues, thrusting as deep as he can with each stroke. It seems to work; Enjolras's eyes are closed and he's panting now, chasing his orgasm. "More," he manages to get out.

Grantaire can oblige. He thrusts in deep enough that their pelvises are touching, skin-to-skin. "You're so beautiful," he says, alternating words and kisses to Enjolras's face, neck, breasts, and everywhere he can reach. "I'm going to make you come, gorgeous, and you're going to yell my name when you do. Can you do that? Can you say my name, babyboy?"

"Yes," Enjolras gasps. His voice is absolutely wrecked. "Grantaire, Grantaire—“

"That's right." Grantaire presses against his clit, hard, smiling when he wails in pleasure. "Come on, come for me. Come for me, sweetheart."

Enjolras comes, crying Grantaire's name. His whole body spasms, and Grantaire can feel his walls clench around his dick, so tight and good, and at that, combined with the expression on Enjolras's face, he can't contain himself any longer, and the sky seems to explode behind his eyelids, painted in white. He's probably shouting Enjolras's name, too, but he can't really be sure of anything except that this is the best fucking orgasm he's ever had in his life.

It's only a few minutes later that he completely comes back to himself. He's holding Enjolras tightly, stroking his hair as if on autopilot. Enjolras is still flushed and breathless, and it looks like the sun has come to settle in his eyes. 

"Grantaire," he says quietly. There's a lot in his voice that Grantaire wants to unpack, but he's too tired for now, so he contents himself with the fact that Enjolras sounds happy and more-than fond. 

"Enjolras," he replies.

There's no need for any other speech, really, because their hearts are touching, and that says more than anything else could, but Grantaire has always been one for words, even if they're extraneous, so he kisses Enjolras gently on the forehead, and pulls away to look him in the eyes. 

"Enjolras," he says again. Enjolras smiles at him, and it's like the breaking of the dawn.

"Yeah?"

"Will you go on a date with me?"

Enjolras's smile blossoms and grows into something so beautiful that the sun itself must be proud. He takes Grantaire's hand and squeezes it in his own, assurance, connection, and something with the potential of love.

"Yes," he says.

Grantaire’s heart is soaring. He pulls Enjolras close, leading him in, and presses a kiss to his forehead, sweet as he knows he can sometimes be. It’s too early to make any romantic pronouncements, but when Enjolras pulls him in to share another kiss, on the mouth this time, it tastes like the beginning of the prettiest song.

And for now, that’s enough.


End file.
